


Monstrous Heart

by bitterjelly



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bear Eskel, Brothels, Creature Fic, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fanart, Fluff and Smut, Human/Monster Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Human Genitalia, Oral Sex, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Post-Coital Cuddling, Scars, Sex Magic, Sex Work, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Sleep, Sleepy Sex, Smut, Succubi & Incubi, Switch!Eskel, The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, dubcon, incubus, magical seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2020-12-21 10:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21073487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitterjelly/pseuds/bitterjelly
Summary: Eskel meets a stranger on the path, and they're bothnotwhat the other hoped for. But monsters and monster hunters have more in common than they think. Contains spoilers for the game The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt. Update: Now with beautiful cover art, commissioned from the incredible Alice Rovai (@alicerovai on Instagram and Tumblr)!





	1. Campfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: mild suicidal ideation

Somewhere in the Temerian countryside, Eksel finally got a fire started. It was a cool summer night on the Path, and the warmth of the fire provided a welcome distraction from Eskel’s nagging despair. He’d been hustled out of another village, underpaid by the ealdorman and spat at by the old women. After all the effort it took to clear out that nekker nest.

The loneliness of the road caught up to him in a rush. He hadn’t spent time with anyone who didn’t detest him on sight since last winter at Kaer Morhen. That was the last winter he’d ever share with Vesemir. He’d received a letter from Geralt, detailing his new villa in Corvo Bianco, so who knew if the white wolf would ever journey to Kaer Morhen again. The thought of himself and Lambert, alone in the massive, crumbling pile of stone, seemed too miserable to contemplate. Who would care if he never made it back to the castle? Witchers were a dying breed, why not just give in to the inevitable? There was no place for him anywhere in the world. No one who would react with more than a nihilistic shrug at the news of his passing.

Eskel leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, giving in to the urge to cry. Hot tears trickled out from his eyes, and a strangled sob escaped his lips. He was so tired. Tired of the road, of the ungrateful villages he depended on to survive, of the steady stream of dead comrades, of not belonging anywhere. It would be so easy to just put himself in the path of a higher vampire or ancient leshen.

Snap.

A twig crunched as Eskel’s medallion began to vibrate softly. In an instant, he wiped his eyes with the back of one hand and drew the dagger from his boot with the other. He glanced over to his double swords as he rose into a crouch. His serpentine eyes dilated wide to pierce the blackness of the night.

A figure was frozen at the edge of his campsite. All Eskel could make out was the silhouette of a long traveling cloak and a floppy velvet hat, of the kind bards and nobles favored.

“What’s your business?” Eskel growled into the dark. The low vibration of his amulet continued. Must be a mage or sorceress.

“I… I … just wanted to offer to share a meal with a fellow traveler.” A man stepped forward closer to the dim, flickering light of the campfire. He moved with trepidation and more than a tinge of regret. His eyes darted to the double scabbard with Eskel’s witcher blades and widened with anxiety.

This idiot, Eskel thought to himself. Probably some bandits thought they could lure a traveler into a robbery. Now he’s realized I’m a witcher and doesn’t know how to get himself out of the situation. Feeling like a vindictive asshole, Eskel decided to call his bluff.

“Sure, stranger. Why not.” A joyless smile flickered on Eskel’s face as replaced the dagger in his boot and stood up. Killing some third-rate thugs was just the way he didn’t want to end this day.

“My camp is… just near… at the bottom of the hill.” The stranger gestured anxiously. He had long, dark brown hair gathered at the nape of his neck with a ribbon. His skin was chestnut-colored, his eyes dark. Even afraid, he was alluring. Something about those liquid black eyes was entrancing, captivating.

Eskel forced his face to remain perfectly neutral as he kicked out the fire, then walked over to his dapple-gray gelding and hoisted the saddle and blanket on his back. The horse snorted derisively and pranced backwards, pushing the witcher with his flank.

“Easy, Daffodil. We’re not going but down the hill.” Eskel pushed back at the gelding and flopped the rest of his bags loosely atop the saddle.

“It’s just… this way…” the stranger led as Eskel and Daffodil trudged behind. In only a few hundred yards, the stranger gestured toward a rocky outcropping that hung low over the entrance to a small cave. Just outside the entrance, crackling in a stone-lined fire pit, was a roaring fire with a pot of boiling stew hanging over it.

Wait, was… the meal thing real? Eskel puzzled to himself. It didn’t feel like a robbery setup any more. The cave looked too small, too exposed - he could see almost all of it just standing at the entrance, even in the gathering dark.

Clop.

The distinct sound of a hoof hitting flat stone pierced the moment of reflection. The stranger whipped around in dismay, withdrawing his hoof from the stone.

His hoof, Eskel realized slowly. His captivating eyes. His unusual offer to a stranger. The witcher guffawed loudly. “An incubus!”

“Master witcher… please… I haven’t hurt anyone. I don’t hurt anyone, I just live out here and mind my own business… please… don’t…” The incubus’ eyes welled up with tears as he backed up in terror.

Forgetting his own surprise and relief, Eskel looked down at the incubus. He thought he was stumbling across an ordinary man, the witcher realized. He realized I was a witcher too late - and now he’s blown his cover.

“Stop.” Eskel commanded the shaking incubus, holding out his hands. “There’s no bounty on you and I have no desire to kill a monster that can hold a conversation.” He could hear the incubus’ heart pounding in his chest. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean to invite a witcher to your home. I’ll be going.”

“No… wait” the stranger sniffled. Eskel heard the man's heart slow as he took a step forward, peeling himself off the side of the rock. The man looked deep in his eyes, searching. Eskel knew that incubi and succubi were preternaturally perceptive and intuitive. They were also hypnotic. He felt himself relax a bit as the man took stock of him. He just hoped his eyes weren't as puffy as they felt, nor his smile as weary. A moment passed. Then another. Quietly the stranger spoke, “If you’re truly a friend, stay. I have enough for two, and I can see you're traveling light.”


	2. Gifts

The meal they shared was simple but satisfying. The incubus offered him a wooden bowl of venison stew, and even shared a bottle of Kaedwen stout.  
  
"I'm Llewellyn." The Incubus lowered his eyes and handed Eskel his bowl.  
  
"Eskel." The witcher clenched his jaw, sure that seductive magics were being worked on his mind. Well, he reasoned it wouldn't be the worst way to earn his supper. It wouldn't be unpleasant at all, he reluctantly decided. He just hated being controlled by magic, strung along like a ridiculous puppet for the amusement of others. Oh well. He was always the butt of some cruel joke or other, whether it was Yennefer's snide remarks, boys throwing rotten eggs at him as he passed through a village, or being used by this... This beautiful creature.  
  
The disguise had been thrown off. Llewellyn's long cloak and velvet hat rested in the back corner of the cave on a thick straw mattress. Now he was very clearly an incubus, with long, soft black-furred goat's legs tucked underneath him, a short tail that whisked back and forth charmingly, and short spike horns poking out from his loose hair. He wore loose, short pants that looked like dark red silk and nothing else besides white body paint, swirled in tantalizing arcs around his bare chest, shoulders, and stomach.  
  
"Charmed to make your acquaintance, Eskel." Llewellyn settled back onto the clean-swept stone of his cave and tucked in to his dinner.  
  
Eskel wasted no time in demolishing the food he'd been given. Everything was so unpredictable on the road - when had he last eaten a hot meal? Two days ago, he reasoned, back in Velen. When he was full of stew and beer he leaned his back against the stone of the cave and sighed. The numerous bouquets of flowers and herbs hanging from the ceiling gave off a sweet, homey smell. The fire crackled.  
  
-+-  
  
Eskel awoke to Llewellyn's laughter. A jolt of panic shot through him at the unfamiliar surroundings, but the memories of the previous night slowly returned. His boots had been removed, and a thick woolen blanket tucked around him. The ashes of the fire gently smouldered in the mid-morning light.  
  
"Oh, darling, thank you! You're simply the sweetest." Another soft bubble of laughter from Llewellyn. Eskel could hear that he was just outside the cave entrance and to the side, blocked from his view. And he wasn't alone. Eskel groaned at the thought of being rousted out of his comfortable doze by the incubus and his... visitor. He felt too warm and sleepy to even contemplate packing up and saddling Daffodil.  
  
But the voices receeded slightly into the forest. With his heightened witcher hearing, Eskel could still just make out the incubus' soft laughter and the visitor's shy words. And then he could hear...  
  
Eskel groaned and tipped his head back against the stone. He should not have been surprised by the delicious moans and gasps that he could hear coming from the woods. He knew very well why an incubus would have a visitor from the village. He just didn't expect it to send the blood rushing to his cock so forcefully. Already half-hard with morning wood, Eskel pushed a rough hand under his breeches to grasp his throbbing erection. The wet slap of hips came to his ears and he stroked himself urgently, thumb gently caressing the slit. He came with in a wave of pleasure and warmth that made him tense his thighs and stretch his entire body, toes curling and left arm stretching up to prop under his head. Eskel wiped his hand lazily on his undershirt and dozed off.  
  
He woke again to the clunk of firewood being thrown onto the fire. Groggily blinking his eyes, he sat up and was immediately handed a warm mug of steaming tea.  
  
"Good afternoon. Sleep well?" Llewellyn smiled warmly down at him, hair tousled around his spike horns, body paint slightly smudged and chipping away. Beautiful.  
  
Eskel shook the thought from his head and grunted, pushing his black hair back from his face and sipping the strong tea. It burned the right side of his mouth, the part that wasn't dead with scar tissue.  
  
"Well enough." An utter lie. He hadn't slept so peacefully in months; comfortable, warm, and safe. No dreams of black Wild Hunt masks, no dreams of Vesemir's lifeless eyes. He sipped his tea.  
  
"Well you're in luck. Dear Tavren has brought us honey cakes." The incubus produced a cloth and pulled back a corner to reveal the small golden cakes. The smell of honey enveloped Eskel in a cocoon of comfort and he closed his eyes. Llewellyn's sweet, soft laughter woke him from his rapture. When he opened his eyes, the incubus was holding a cake out in front of him. Eskel took it, hard calluses brushing soft fingers.  
  
The witcher managed to get up and pull his boots on just after midday. He absentmindedly brushed Daffodil, picking burrs out of his mane and tail while he daydreamed. Whatever magics the incubus was using against him... maybe they weren't malevolent. Maybe he could just stay in this bubble of softness, away from the world, away from the killing, the death.  
  
Daffodil snorted and stomped, nipping Eskel's shoulder, hard. He had ripped out a cluster of burrs and taken quite a few gray horse hairs with it.  
  
"Agh, Daf." Eskel rubbed his shoulder and threw the burr clump on the ground.  
  
Someone was coming.  
  
The witcher froze and turned back to find his swords among his things. He was fucking defenseless. Cursing under his breath at the haze he had been in, he strapped them to his back and crouched behind the gelding.  
  
"Caleb, my treasure, what a sight for sore eyes." Llewellyn clip-clopped out of the cave, adjusting a newly woven flower crown around his horns.  
  
"Hey Llew." A rough, deep voice. Eskel straightened up and peered around Daffodil's chest. It was a young peasant, probably a farmer, in simple but clean work clothes. The man's face looked freshly scrubbed and his thick brown beard combed and oiled. Eskel felt a bit silly for putting his swords on. He was so used to... well, not this.  
  
"My dearest, what have you brought me?" Llewellyn's face brightened up as Caleb handed him quite a large brown jug.  
  
"Dandelion wine. M'own recipe. Watch out now, she kick like a mule." The man stroked his beard smugly as Llewellyn gushed over the gift. Caleb caught Eskel's eye and nodded, grinning. Eskel gave a curt nod back and became highly absorbed in brushing his horse.  
  
"What a lovely gift, dearest. Why don't we enjoy this down at the river, my darling. I would absolutely adore a swim today." The incubus pulled close to Caleb and whispered something in his ear. The farmer rested his hands comfortably on Llewellyn's furry hips, pulling him close. Eskel could hear him take a deep huff of the the incubus' scent.  
  
Llewellyn gathered up a few items from under his mattress and shoved them in a satchel, and the pair headed off. Eskel strained to hear them for as long as he could, just to hear Llewellyn's bubbling laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is an incubus a sex worker or a polyamorous person? I put both tags in because its a bit of a mixed bag. In my headcannon, Llew gains magical energies from having sex with his partners and their gifts are how he gets food/clothing/necessities - so somewhat transactional. But he is also attracted to each of his partners and enjoys having sex with them for his own pleasure as well as theirs - so a bit like a relationship. The nature of his species blurs those lines a bit. Tell me what you think in the comments! And thank you for reading :)


	3. Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: dubcon (magic/intoxication), child abuse nightmare/memory

It was past sunset when the incubus stumbled back home, smelling of wine and soap. His hair and fur were still wet and his skin was scrubbed clean of paint. Plopping down on his thick straw mattress, he looked up at Eskel.  
  
"You're still here?" A crooked smile involuntarily drew a tiny grin from Eskel's lips.  
  
"Yes, well..." Suddenly reality slammed into him like an avalanche. Why is he here? Why is he _still_ here? He is taking up space in this man's life he has no right to inhabit. He's imposed himself on a stranger for a full day, when he was offered one meal. He's squatting in the home of an incubus he's not even fucking. What is he doing here?  
  
"Come... Stay." Llewellyn reclines back on his bed and opens his arms wide with a beatific smile. His eyes are closed. His legs fall gently to one side, hooves still resting on the floor.  
  
The thought of leaving now is almost heartbreaking. If this is the cost for staying, he reasons, it is a fair one. Eskel shucks off his red and black gambeson and crawls in to...  
  
The incubus lets out a loud snore.  
  
Eskel realizes he's been holding his breath, now, as he lets it out in a sigh. That was... anticlimactic. He tries to reason away his dissapointment as the incubus' limbs twine around him in a way thats so warm and comforting and... impossible to escape. Burying his face in Llewellyn's damp hair, he breathes in the scent of soap and riverwater. And drifts to sleep.  
  
Kaer Morhen is crumbling. Blasts of frost are being thrown from the sky. The wild hunt is there, their dogs tearing Lambert to pieces, their blades cutting Geralt down, their eyes glowing blue like ice. He's looking down at Vesemir sink deeper into frozen water... so far away... He's a child again, facing the trial of grasses and Vesemir is sinking. Without him he'll never survive the trials... he sees himself on the table, convulsing in pain. No, it's not him. It's Mikul. The one who died... before... Mikul is screaming, Eskel sees a wet stain spread across his trousers. He's just a child! Eskel screams, and runs toward Mikul, but he's falling. He's sinking deep into the icy waters.  
  
With a snort he's bolt upright on the bed, panting for breath.  
  
"Eskel? What's wrong, my dear?" Llewellyn gazes up at him with sleepy alarm.  
  
"Dream. Just a dream." Eskel wipes the sweat off his face with his tunic. "I should..."  
  
When the witcher makes a move to get off the bed, Llewellyn sits up and gently clasps his shoulders. "Look at me, darling."  
  
Eskel can't help it. He's still mostly man, though mutated. He looks long and deep into the incubus' liquid black eyes. Every muscle in his body relaxes. His belly feels warm and he's safe. The memory of the dream flows away like water and his eyes flicker down to Llewellyn's parted lips.  
  
Llewellyn kisses Eskel with all the gentle sweetness he can gather. His hand slips down from Eskel's shoulder to his chest, as the other reaches up to gently guide the back of the witcher's head down to the bed. When they lay facing each other, he moves his hand to Eskel's lower back and pulls them close together. It takes every ounce of his magic to bleed the nightmare tension and urgent fear out of the witcher. He feels it all there, under the surface, resistantly pushing back against the tendrils of sorcery. The loneliness, the anger, the pain. Almost everywhere his hand rests, he can feel the eruption of scar tissue out of the skin.  
  
Eskel kisses Llewellyn like a man who has just returned to his lover after a long journey. Eskel kisses him like he's coming home, fiercely pressing his lips against him. Llewellyn can feel the strange texture of the scars across the witcher's face, across his lips. The bumps and divots where the flesh has been ripped away by... a claw perhaps? Eskel slides his tongue against the incubus' and shoves his hips forwards, one thick, muscular arm encircling Llewellyn's shoulder.  
  
He's strong. Stronger even than Caleb, the blacksmith. Maybe stronger than Llewellyn. He pulls away with a gasp and tips his head back. Not missing the cue, Eskel licks a wet stripe up his neck and under his jaw, kissing and sucking the soft skin there.  
  
"Nnuhh... yes. Eskel" Llewellyn moans, eliciting a deep growl from deep in the witcher's throat. With a quick push, Llewellyn flips him to his back and straddles his thighs. He can see the witcher is rock hard, straining the ties on his breeches. His catlike pupils are blown wide and his lips are parted with quick pants. He has his hands up near his broad shoulders, palms up in a "don't shoot" gesture.  
  
"Can I...?" Llewellyn trails off, breathless, already fiddling with the ties.  
  
Eskel lets out a short, deep moan and tips back his head. One hand flies down and rips apart the ties, shoving his pants down. His thick, uncut cock bobs up, leaking beads of precome.  
  
Llewellyn bends over slowly, his dark eyes on Eskel's catlike, yellow ones. He sticks his tongue out, just a bit, as his hand pulls the foreskin back, and slowly licks the underside of the witcher's cock, swiping up to collect the salty precome. He savors the warm, musky taste and smell of Eskel. This one is different, he just can't quite put his finger on why. He takes the length of Eskel into his mouth, drooling out of the corners of his lips, swirling his tongue around the shaft.  
  
Eskel is floating. The wet, soft heat of Llewellyn's mouth on his hard, leaking cock is sending waves of warmth across his body that pool in his gut. He looks down at the incubus, his dark brown, wavy hair falling across his face and shoulders, his short spike horns bobbing up and down, his lips around him. Another moan, deep and guttural, escapes his lips and he gently, ever so carefully, palms the back of Llewellyn's head, threading his fingers through the soft, damp hair. He can feel his head bobbing, faster, the muscles in his neck tensing. He can hear the soft puffs of air coming from his nostrils. A hand comes up and soft fingers press into his perenium, caress across his balls. No guilt, no fear, no anxiety - for once he's all here. He's in this moment with a complete stranger, and he trusts him.  
  
Eskel's knees fall open and he presses the back of Llewellyn's head down as his hips thrust up. Without skipping a beat, the incubus swallows down and Eskel's cockhead hits the back of his throat.  
  
"Unhh... Oh. Yes. Right there. Ohh..." Eskel's breathless gasp turns into a moan as he comes, spurting down Llewellyn's throat. The incubus takes it all, swallowing and slowly rubbing Eskel's thickly muscled, hairy thighs.  
  
"My sweet one. My beautiful hunter." The incubus lowers himself back down onto the bed and caresses Eskel's cheek, catching the rough stubble and knobby scar. Eskel fumbles for his breeches and lifts his hips to pull them back up. His eyes are half-closed with sleepy satisfaction. Llewellyn loves them best like this, contented in his arms. He gives silent thanks for being an incubus. The other relicts, the ones that must take from humans with force, will never know this pleasure. The feeling of being satisfied and loved. Knowing your "prey" is fulfilled as well. This feeling is only for the succubi and incubi.  
  
"Llew," Eskel mutters. His eyes are fluttering, half closed with sleep. Llewellyn covers his mouth with a kiss, and he sleeps.


	4. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: intimate partner violence, slightly gory description of wounds and wound care

Eskel was up at dawn, feeling rested for the first time in ages, kneeling at the entrance of the cave. The quiet _sshing_ of his whetstone against steel harmonizes with the singing of insects and the rustle of leaves. Pale sunlight illuminates the cold dew with a yellow glow. 

_shing. shingg_

Eskel's catlike eyes narrow when his keen hearing picks up a new sound. The shushing sound of footsteps trudging through the long, wet grass. A visitor for Llewellyn, this early? Eskel turns and peers into the dimness of the cave. Llewellyn is just stirring, eyes blinking but still snuggled into the blankets. Perhaps he hears it too.

"Someone coming." Eskel speaks softly, not wanting to break the early-morning quiet. He doesn't fancy being Llew's herald, so he stands up, sliding the steel blade into its scabbard. Quickly untying Daffodil's hobbles, he takes his halter and starts walking down to the river. 

-+-

Daffodil bends his powerful neck down to drink at the narrow river, whisking his tail and squishing the soft mud under his hooves. He'll have to be re-shod soon, Eskel groans to himself. After he pays the expenses of his mercenary life, his mercenary wage is always nearly gone. Maybe there's a job in the next village. He thought he heard Caleb mention drowners, maybe. 

A patch of celandine blooms catches his attention and he leaves Daffodil to his morning drink while he collects the petals. On second thought, he begins snapping them off at the stem. A bouquet for the incubus. 

Oh. 

Oh shit. 

The memory of last night slams into him, snapping him forcefully out of his early-morning haze. _So he finally overpowered me_, one half of his mind sneers. 

_So you finally let yourself be honest, be happy for once_, the other half chides.

_He just used his magic_, the darkness whispers. _It's not real._

_Magic is a part of him, like a beautiful smile might be a part of someone. Like magic is a part of you_, the light sings. _What you feel is real. Pleasure can be real._

_Not for me_. The darkness slams a door. _That's not part of a witcher's Path._

Eskel crushes the celandine flowers in his hand.

_Not for me._

The distant sound of raised voices reaches Eskel's ear. It's coming from the cave. The incubus' voice. They must be really shouting. Eskel knits his brow, standing and turning back to his horse. Daffodil is pulling on low-hanging willow branches and snuffling. 

A strangled scream. Llewellyn's voice. A muffled shout. The witcher's heart begins pounding in his ears and the adrenaline propels him onto Daffodil's back, kicking him on and up the hill, dodging the trees. Rounding the cliff, he leaps off the horse with a hand on the hilt of his steel sword and sees the blood.

-+- 

Llewellyn's left arm looked awkwardly limp and hung by his side. Dark red blood dripped from his fingers to the grass, still wet with dew. His right hand pressed into his collarbone, near his shoulder. His face was pale and streaked with tears. 

On the ground before him was a man laid flat on his back. His eyes stared upwards, darting frantically. Out of his lips and down his cheek came bloody foam. His chest heaved erratically, painfully. The knife, shiny with blood, was thrown in the grass just out of his reach. 

"Eskel." Llewellyn panted, sweat plastering his hair to his face, nose and eyes streaming. "Help me."

The sword slammed back into its scabbard as Eskel lunged for the incubus. 

"Where?" His fingers fluttered across Llewellyn's arm and shoulder, looking for wounds. 

"It's deep. There's rags under the pallet." Llewellyn sank slowly to his knees, eyes on the dying man before him. 

Eskel turned and threw the straw mattress back, revealing a haphazard mix of clothing, vials, and coin. He grabbed a fairly clean rag and ran back to Llewellyn, shoving it roughly under the incubus' hand that was still pressing over his wound. A backwards glance at the man on the ground confirmed that he would pose no threat, now. Glazed eyes stared lifelessly at the sky.

Eskel put one callused hand behind Llewellyn's head, cupping it gently. Just like the other man had done for him the previous night, he guided it slowly down. "Lie down. You're going to faint."

All the incubus could do was gaze up at him with watery eyes as he began to shiver.

"Fuck." Eskel removed his hand and ran for his saddle bags. "Fuck." He was throwing everything out on the ground. Wyvern decoction, no. Hoof pick, no. "Fuck." Here it was. He pulled the small leather pouch out and clenched it in his hand. More rummaging produced a pint of alchemical alcohol.

Running back in the cave, he snatched a handful of verbena and white myrtle. Another rag. Back to Llew. 

Laying his materials out next to Llewellyn's head, he knelt and gently pried away his hand. 

"No. Noo. Its deep." Llewellyn was sweating heavily despite his shivering. 

"I know." Eskel placed a hand on Llewellyn's chest. "Let me sew it up." Eskel pried back the incubus' fingers and peeled off the sticky rag. 

It was deep. Blood was everywhere, drying and clotting across the incubus' arm. More blood pooled up when the rag was unstuck, and Eskel rushed to open the alcohol and splash it over the wound.

Llewellyn's head lifted off the ground as his body curled involuntarily, a harsh shout coming from his throat. The motion squeezed the wound open, pouring out another gout of blood. 

"Stop." Eskel's left hand roughly pushed Llewellyn's good shoulder back down to the ground as his right tried to pinch the knife puncture closed. Flipping open his suture kit, he pulled out the wickedly curved needle, already threaded and ready. 

Eskel had to hold Llewellyn's shoulders and neck down with his left forearm, hold the wound closed with his left hand, and sew through Llew's shaking shoulder with his right hand. It was a rough job, and he knew he couldn't get away with fewer than three stitches. After ripping the skin at the edge of the wound a few times, he managed to get it closed and tied off and cut the thread. The bleeding slowed and Eskel breathed a sigh of relief, sitting back on his heels and wiping his forehead with his arm. He crushed the herbs against the wound and covered them with a rag. Glancing around for something to bind the bandage with, he spied a leather belt around the waist of the dead man. 

He was an older man, perhaps fifty but still elegantly handsome, with a clean-shaven face and gray at the temples. A half-elf, with dark circles under his eyes. His open mouth was crusted with drying blood foam. His body lurched weirdly as Eskel pulled the belt off him.

Without a second glance, Eskel turned back to Llewellyn and looped the belt under his arm, cinching it tight around his shoulder.

Eskel gently pushed his arms under the incubus' neck and knees, lifting him off the ground and holding him close to his body. He was covered in sweat and trembling, eyes half open.

"You're alright. It's alright." Eskel laid the incubus down on the straw mattress and piled the woolen blankets over him, tucking them tight around Llew's shivering body. He brushed sweaty hair back from Llewellyn's brow. "You're safe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely apologize for the wonky verb tenses. I'm too lazy to change things, so let's say its an artistic Choice


	5. Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: graphic description of a human corpse

Once the incubus was safely tucked into bed, Eskel set to work on the body problem. He collected the bloody knife and checked the scene for any other incriminating items. Llewellyn would surely have to move on to a new town after word got out about the missing half-elf, but Eskel could buy him some time. He bent down and slid his arms under the dead man's arms, grasping him with the corpse's back to his chest, his hands on the man's chest. He could feel where the broken sternum and ribs were grinding around loosely. The bone must have pierced the man's heart or lungs, the witcher reasoned. With every step, another bubble of blood was squeezed out of the body with a ghastly wheeze. Eskel had never been on the recieving end of an incubus or succubus' kick, and he counted himself lucky. 

Careful not to leave an obvious trail, the witcher began to drag the corpse, its feet trailing along the ground. He waddled backwards awkwardly for about seventy yards, until he could see the road over his shoulder. He dumped the body just off the well-worn cart path and drew his steel sword, twirling it gracefully in his hand. With a soft grunt, he cut through the man's tunic, slashing his chest and shoulder several times in what he hoped would look an inexpert swordsman's handiwork. He rummaged through the man's pockets and turned them out, pocketing the six orens he found. For good measure he pulled off the man's boots. To make it look like there had been a fight, he kicked the grass and broke branches all around the body. Satisfied with his highway robbery tableau, he stomped hurriedly down the hill, past the cave, and threw the bloody dagger and leather boots into the narrow river. With a splash, they were gone.

The incubus' eyes fluttered open when Eskel stepped into the cave. The witcher could hear his rapid heartbeat, but saw he had stopped shivering so violently. Eskel filled a mug of water from the clay jug next to the bed and bent to give it to Llewellyn. 

"Eskel." The incubus could barely get out a whisper. His glassy eyes strained to focus on the witcher. 

Seeing he was much too weak to grasp the mug, Eskel gingerly raised up Llewellyn's head and put the cup to his lips, holding it there until the water was gone, mostly into the incubus' mouth. Wet trails ran down Llew's chin and neck, pooling at the notch between his clavicle bones. He held him like that for several minutes longer, looking searchingly at Llewellyn's face. The incubus' breathing slowly began to steady, and he opened his eyes. 

"Under the bed... a pink bottle. Can you..." 

"Yeah." The witcher replied quickly, lowering Llewellyn's head. "Yeah." He pushed up the side of the mattress and pawed through the mess of clothing. There was a deep green pint bottle. Not that one...  
"Here." Eskel found a clear potion vial, filled with a light pink substance, and thrust it at the incubus.

"Thank you." Llewellyn weakly peeled back the wax seal and drained the vial, shaking the last drops out onto his tongue. As soon as it was gone, tears began to well up in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks. 

"Why would Morvran do this?" He sobbed, a wail escaping his throat.

"The half-elf?" Eskel asked quietly, kneeling at the edge of the pallet. 

"Y-yes," Llewellyn sobbed "is he dead?" Agonized black eyes fixed Eskel with a desperate stare.

"He's dead. Broken rib likely punctured his lung. I carried the body to the road - made it look like a robbery. Should buy you a few days at least." Eskel dealt matter-of-factly with killing and death. It was his job.

"Nooo!" Llewellyn threw his head back against the bed, squeezing tears out the corner of his eyes.

"Did what you had to." Eskel cast his eyes down. How many times had he reassured himself of the same thing. Cutting down someone's brother, someone's husband. It was him or me. 

The incubus' face was screwed up with misery, tears flowing into his hair, teeth clenched over sobs. "Why?! He could have just gone on with his life! What... Why throw away _everything_ over... over..." Llewellyn's hands clenched at his sides. 

"Jealosy?" Eskel supplied grimly. 

"Yes." The incubus' voice was a whisper, his eyes fixed on the stone ceiling of the cave, decorated with swirls of red and white paint. 

"Humans never make sense. Sometimes dwarves do. But never men." Eskel moved to refill the cup of water and set it near the bed.

"You'll stay with me, won't you? Please stay. I know we're not natural friends, witchers and monsters. I know you're unsure." The incubus lifted his shoulders off the bed, wincing slightly. "But... I... I could pay you. Hire your protection. I have some money." 

Eskel knew. He'd seen it when he was rummaging under the mattress. He also knew that there was a noticeable lack of magic in the air. His medallion was still. There was no fuzzy feeling of happiness at the back of his skull, no lure of desire in his eyes. He was just a man (or monster) - hurt, sweaty, desparate, with mucus running out of his nose and a belt awkwardly tied around his chest to hold his soaked bandage. He didn't smell like roses or perfume. He smelled like blood and grain alcohol.

"You don't have to pay me. I'll stay." Eskel's voice rumbled low in his chest, and he was suddenly unsure where to put his hands. 

Llew reached out to touch Eskel, but the witcher was already grabbing the water jug and stomping away.


	6. Paint

It started raining that evening. It was an early-summer downpour that smelled like thunder. Eskel cut some saplings down with his steel sword and propped them against the cave entrance, tying his oilcloth tent across the opening to shield them from the worst of the damp. His gray gelding huddled against the cliffside. 

"Fire's not happening." Eskel waved his hand, thumb and ring finger bent. The row of beeswax candles lining the back wall of the cave burst with light. The candlelight settled down and flickered gently against the stone. "Wood's soaked." The rain roared outside, making Eskel worry he couldn't hear or smell anyone who might want to sneak up on them. 

"Morvran. He got friends, family? Anyone looking for him?" Eskel cleared away their dinner things, picked over trail rations and a plate of fruit. 

Llewellyn sighed heavily and rubbed a hand across his bare chest. "Not really. He's... He was a bachelor. Lived alone save for some woman he paid to cook for him. Few friends. I doubt anyone will notice his absence for several days at least. It's really rather unlikely anyone would be motivated to revenge him. Truth be told, he was something of a bastard."

"Obviously." Eskel gestured, deadpan, at the incubus' shoulder. 

Llewellyn let out cold, barking laugh, grimacing as the motion strained his stitches. "He was a harsh man. Bitter at the cards life dealt him. He made his own troubles, as so many do." The incubus ran his fingers through his hair, letting it fall slowly across his shoulders. "But bottling your emotions up inside can also turn into... a certain intoxicating passion." 

Eskel's eyes caught Llewellyn's. 

"How," he cleaned his throat, "how about we see how hard this mule kicks?" The heavy ceramic jug of dandelion wine scraped across the stone floor as Eskel pulled it out from its hiding place.

"Well, if Morvran couldn't kill me, perhaps Caleb will finish the job." Llewellyn gave a wry smile and drained his mug of water, holding it out to the witcher.

"That's the spirit." There was no way to pour the heavy jug except in large sloshes. With full mugs of the strong-smelling brew, they paused. 

"To your health." Eskel grinned over his mug and drank deep. Immediately his eyes began watering as he gasped for air and coughed. Llewellyn gave a bubbling laugh of true joy, his eyes sparkling with a brief spark of unadulterated happiness. 

"My gem. Even a witcher can't gulp poison like that." He took a small sip and squeezed his eyes shut tight, puckering his dark lips. 

"Can I kiss you?" The question came out too fast, strangled.

"Yes, you may my love." Llewellyn gently rested his cup on the floor next to him and leaned back onto the cool stone.

Eskel leaned forward. He was a large man but his training and mutations had made him graceful. Broad shoulders tensed under his quilted gambeson. Muscular thighs raised him up to Llewellyn's lips. He pressed gently with his full lips, and reached up to cup his hand around the back of the incubus' neck. His nostrils flared. 

"You're still covered in blood." Eskel's eyes flicked down. 

"Yes, it's getting rather itchy. And I never had a chance to paint myself, today." Llewellyn scratched at his bloody arm, peeling flecks of dried blood. 

"Let me... Uhh." Eskel patted around and found an undershirt. He dipped it gingerly in the water and reached back for Llew, who pushed his blanket down cooperatively. Before he touched his skin, he paused. Reverently he pressed the cloth to the incubus' skin, supporting his arm gently with the other hand. It took a few minutes, tentatively cleaning the wounded arm. Eskel's touch was soft and practiced - he was well versed in field medicine and wound care. By training and experience. 

"What was that medicine? That you took?" Eskel asked with downcast eyes, wiping the crook of Llewellyn's elbow. 

"Oh... haha. Um," Llew laughed, "a solution of hellebore petals." His right hand came up to untie the belt around his shoulder that kept his bandage clamped on. He peeled it away carefully and grimaced down at the wound. "And a certain kind of... donation... from a friend of mine." 

"I wouldn't... Er..." The witcher was surprised to see the wound fairly closed over. Incubi must heal like witchers, he reasoned. He leaned out of the cave and rinsed his cloth in the rain, then set to delicately cleaning the rest of Llewelllyn's shoulder. 

"My paint. Could you please assist me, my lovely one?" Llewellyn gestured to a metal pot and Eskel hurried to bring it to him. The incubus pried off the top and pulled a small wood and horsehair brush out of the thick paste. Eskel finished wiping off the last bit of crusted blood and Llewellyn began painting, broad swipes of creamy white across his chestnut-brown skin. Wide concentric circles around his navel, connected by two lines up his sternum to semicircles around his shoulders. Eskel watched with increasingly drunken awe. 

"I don't suppose I could entice you to do the back?" Llewellyn turned and exposed the soft expanse of his back. Eskel's eyes darted down to his waist, where the soft black hair demarcated Llewellyn's goaty parts. The incubus' tail gave a small flick. 

"I'm no artist, but I suppose I could try." The witcher set down his nearly empty mug of hooch and grasped the paint pot. 

First, he placed his large palm against the smooth skin, searching for his inspiration. _Well first let me connect these circles,_ Eskel reasoned to himself. He connected the semicircles Llewellyn had drawn on the front of his shoulders around the back of his shoulderblades. _Perhaps another loop,_ he decided as he connected the shoulderblades with an arc. 

"Something for protection." Eskel mused out loud as he drew a loose quen sigil against Llew's spine, encircling it with a ring of dots. 

"Thank you, my knight. That feels much better." Llewellyn straightened out and flexed his wounded shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its a cum potion.


	7. Spell

"Why do you stay?" Llewellyn's face was suddenly serious. "Why linger here, after you've had your satisfaction?"

"I - I'm sorry. I didn't mean to - "

"Don't apologize. I want you here. You think you're a pariah, a ghost that drifts from town to town. You think you're indecipherable. But you're just a man. They all feel like you do. Exhausted, angry, alone. Just let me take that from you for a while. Don't feel guilty for something we both want."

"Then why ask me -"

"Because I want to know the real answer." Llewellyn captured Eskels hands in his and placed them on his chest.

"I want something that makes me feel like I'm not already dead." The revelation passes Eskel's lips before he registers its truth.

"My sweetest." The incubus leaned in close and pressed Eskel's fingers to his lips. "What makes you feel alive?"

Eskel pulled his hands out of Llew's grasp and reached around his body to grasp both of the incubus' ass cheeks in his powerful grip, pulling him forward so that Llewellyn straddled Eskel where he knelt. The silky material of his short pants slipped smoothly over Eskel's breeches. 

Llewellyn looked down at Eskel's upturned face, his long wavy brown locks gently falling around Eskel's face, and bent to capture his lips in a gentle kiss. The witcher strained into him, hands climbing up his back to pull him closer, crushing him into his chest. Llewellyn hummed into Eskel's lips, calling forward his magic that descended over the couple like a cocoon. 

Eskel shuffled forward on his knees, holding the incubus against him. Slowly, massive shoulders and thighs tensing, he lowered Llewellyn to the bed. Furry knees came up to squeeze his sides. Soft lips pressed, slick tongues slid together, and breath turned ragged. Without breaking the kiss, Eskel untied his gambeson and threw it behind him, and started working on the ties on his breeches. He lowered his body into Llewellyn's, grinding their erections together, humming low in his throat. 

"Is this what you want, my wolf?" Llewellyn's eyes darted between Eskel's catlike yellow eyes, their pupils blown wide with lust.

"I want you." The witcher's large hand came up to caress Llewellyn's soft face. "I want you," he huffed raggedly. The incubus gripped the hem of Eskel's undershirt and yanked it above his head, exposing the massive expanse of Eskel's chest - pale and scarred and dusted with black hair. One huge knot of scar tissue exploded out like a star from a point near his right nipple. Ragged claw marks puckered across his stomach. A dozen other small slashes criscrossed his torso. He tried to be respectful, but Llewellyn couldn't supress the look of deep sadness that crossed his face when the witcher's shirt came off.

"I know it's not... I'm sorry." Eskel froze with humiliation. "Professional hazards." He tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out hollow. 

"Precious one. Your body is beautiful. I want all of it." Llewellyn pushed at the untied breeches, kneading Eskel's muscular ass. He pulled away at Eskel's self-loating, coils of magic tugging at the deep wells of anger and loosening them, just a bit. "Give it to me."

Eskel let out a deep sigh, his breath hot against Llewellyn's neck. He kicked off his boots with an awkward jerk and pushed his breeches down while the incubus stroked his back and shoulders. Llewellyn reached back and undid the button over his tail, then the two buttons in front. Eskel, suddenly naked and painfully hard, knelt between the incubus' knees. He was a brick wall of a man, with wide shoulders, thick arms, and just a hint of softness around his belly. Thick black hair trailed down his stomach across those parts that weren't scar. 

Eskel's hands came up to grip around Llew's waist as the pair looked into each others eyes.

"Fuck me, witcher." 

A low growl began in Eskel's chest and turned into a hungry roar as he ripped off Llew's shorts and threw them. He drew his hands roughly up Llewellyn's soft-furred thighs. The incubus' coal-black cock was surrounded by a folded sheath of skin. Eskel wrapped his hand around and brushed the flat tip with his thumb, savoring the unfamiliar sensation of the hot, smooth skin. 

Llewellyn let out a happy moan and wriggled his shoulders into the mattress, adjusting his hips. From underneath the pillow, he produced a small bottle and uncorked it, pouring slick onto his hand. He reached down and grasped himself under Eskel's hand, pushing the callused fist off with a slow, wet stroke. He spread his legs and circled his hole with slick, aware of the witcher's hypnotized gaze and the slow strokes of his hand on his own leaking cock. 

The incubus started to stetch himself. One finger slipped inside, then two. Eskel's abdominal muscles clenched as if he were in pain. He bent down, keeping one hand on his length and pressing the other into Llew's belly. Tentatively he took the tip of Llewellyn's cock in his mouth, full lips stretching around the flat head. Catlike eyes glowed yellow as they flicked upward to meet the incubus' gaze.  
"Eskel. Yes. Just like that," Llewellyn panted out in breathy moans. 

Encouraged, Eskel relaxed his clenching throat and swallowed down the incubus, bobbing his head. It was an odd sensation, Llewellyn noted, how the left side of the witcher's mouth felt loose where the ruined muscle around his scar kept his lips from curling against Llew's cock. 

The witcher withdrew his mouth and wiped his wet lips with the back of his hand. His eyes looked lost, unseeing. Eskel lined up against the incubus' hole, grasping one of his legs under the knee. Ragged breaths escaped his throat, and his hands trembled. Time and time again, Llewellyn had brought powerful men to this. How many times had he seen them begging underneath him, weeping, trembling with desperate confessions of lust and love. Barons, sargeants, arch-mages, aristocrats - men for whom the world bent. Llew could bend them, break them if he desired. He breathed deep, savoring the scent of sweat and sex, drawing from the sacred source of his magic. With his body, he weaved his spell of transfiguration - melting anger into harmony, fear into peace, their bodies into one.

Eskel pushed into Llewellyn's wet, tight heat. He felt like he was dying - like he was riding an unstoppable horse at lightning speed off the side of a cliff. Distantly, he was aware that his moans were echoing off the cave walls and his legs were shaking. His hips made short, jerky thrusts that sent him deeper and deeper into the incubus and made his eyes roll back in his head. 

Llewellyn's hands rubbed soothingly up and down Eskel's hairy chest and stomach, gently ghosting over his hard nipples and squeezing his clenched pectorals. Eskel's hips slammed into Llew with a wet slap, pushing a rough gasp out of his throat. The witcher's hands gripped powerfully on the back of his thighs, clenching and shifting as if he couldn't find a hold on the incubus. 

Quickly, so as not to break the spell, Llewellyn pulled himself off the witcher and clambered onto his hands and knees, arching his back and curling his tail up. Huge hands grabbed his hips, so hard he knew it would bruise in the morning, and slammed his body back, impaling him on the witcher's fat cock. 

Now with a firmer grip, Eskel pounded into the incubus, making him brace his hands against the back of the cave. The sound of Eskel's balls slapping, pounding heartbeats, and rough breaths was deafening. 

"Unh. Unhh. Llew... Fuck... I'm gonna... Fuck!" With one more powerful slam of Llewellyn's hips against Eskel's, the witcher was coming - every muscle in his body clenched and unclenched and tears sprang out of his eyes. With panting breaths he fell across the incubus' back, bringing one thick arm across Llewellyn's chest and nuzzling his neck. 

"Llew. Oh gods... Llew." A tremor shook through Eskel's body as he withdrew his softening cock from Llewellyn's abused hole. "Oh gods." His breath slowly evened as they held their position like that, on all fours. As his faculties slowly returned to him, he began to kiss along Llewellyn's neck and shoulder. "St-Stand up."

Llewellyn turned a quizzical eye to the witcher, "why, my handsome?"

"I want to - you didn't. Uh." 

Llew slowly rolled out from under the witcher and stood, horns almost scraping the ceiling of their rocky bower. His black cock jutted out, hot and hard, inches from Eskel's full lips. 

The witcher knelt before him, a bear of a man tenderly taking his cock into his mouth and tending to his needs. Llewellyn brought both hands up and behind his head, resting his elbows on the cave ceiling. Eskel tenderly held his hips and fucked Llewellyn's cock with his soft mouth, eyes taking in the long expanse of Llewellyn's painted torso. The witcher's adams apple bobbed as he swallowed down, enveloping Llew in tight, hot wetness. The faintest bit of his back molars scraped Llewellyn's length, making his balls tighten up his eyelids flutter shut. Eskel's cum trickled out of him and down the fur on his leg.

"My baby. My darling. My own." He whispered as Eskel's tongue stroked his shaft. "Huhh.. Eskel..." With a breathy, low moan, Llewellyn came on Eskel's tongue, surrounded by Eskel's warmth. His eyes turned back down to the witcher's face in time to see him swallow everything down and press his face tenderly into the incubus' soft thigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eskel might belong to the school of the wolf, but he's a bear :)


	8. Road

Eskel woke with his body curled around Llewellyn, the curly hair of his tail tickling Eskel's thigh. Weak sunlight was filtering in to illuminate the waxy puddles of spent candles. Eskel rolled over and searched blindly with his hand on the floor for his breeches. He pulled them on and stood, joints popping and creaking, to find the rest of his clothing. He threw Llewellyn's silk pants over his sleeping form and stepped out into the morning. Daffodil had hobbled a few feet away into the trees and was ripping at the wet grass. Eskel took down the tent he had tied in front of the cave entrance and shook it out. The sudden assault of sunlight woke Llewellyn, who rolled onto his back with a groan. 

"Time to get moving." Eskel was refolding the tent and stuffing it into his saddle bags. 

A long, whining moan came from Llewellyn's throat, followed by a string of foul curses.

"Do you have any idea where you'd like to go next? Oxenfurt is nice this time of year. Or would you prefer somewhere less... crowded?"

"Whatever. It doesn't matter." The incubus sat up, noticed his pants draped over him, and began to pull them on. "I'd _like_ to stay here. I'd _like_ to be able to remain and _cherish_ my lovers and make a _home_. But that's not going to happen for me, evidently. Of course, its my fault for giving a bitter old _prick_ the best nights of his life," Llewellyn spat.

"I'm sorry." Eskel looked chastened. 

"My pet," Llewellyn's face softened, "I'm not vexed with you." He sighed. "I'm _merely_ brokenhearted that I'm losing my home, not for the first time in my life, because of the absurdity of humans."

"I understand." Eskel's words were clipped, full of repressed pain.

"As much as they need us monsters, they hate us as well." Llewellyn's hand was on Eskel's shoulder, then his head on his chest. They stood like that for a few moments, torn between lonely recollections and hopeful closeness. "Oxenfurt sounds perfect." 

Within an hour, the cave was mostly emptied, stuffed bags piled high on Daffodil's back. The only remains were the hanging bouquets, the swirls of paint on the walls, the emptied out mattress straw, and a neat row of folded letters. Llewellyn let his eyes travel over them one last time, addressed in red ink in his flowing, rounded script. Tavren. Caleb. Sara. Roderick. Franz. Falas. Silent tears flowed down his face as he turned away and allowed Eskel to lift him onto the horse's back.

"They'll never forget you." Eskel looked up, into Llewellyn's streaming eyes, wrenching a sob loose from the incubus.

"I hope they feel my love, always." Llewellyn wept miserably. Eskel squeezed his thigh, fur covered again by a long traveling cloak, and took Daffodil's halter, silently trudging toward the road. 

-+-

Eskel started the fire with a witcher sign, the magic pulsing forward from his hand in a rush of sparks. Llewellyn lay on his bedroll, facing the dark forest, trying to contain his misery. But Eskel's inhuman hearing meant he could still make out the quiet gulps of breath that meant the incubus was crying.

"I'm sorry, Llew." Eskel bent and placed a tentative hand on the incubus' shoulder. 

"_I miss them_" Llewellyn wimpered. 

"I know." Eskel lay down and curled his body around Llew, bringing his muscular arm across the incubus' chest. "You can write them. When we get to the city." 

"Will you be like him? Will you turn against me? I don't know if I could fight you off, if you did." Llewellyn whispered into the ground.

"No, Llew." Eskel said forcefully, squeezing his bicep around Llewellyn's chest. "I don't expect anything from you. Whatever we have, for however long, is more than I deserve." He paused with a low chuckle, "Besides, if I had you all to myself I think you'd kill me." 

Llewellyn wiped his face all over the rough canvas of the bedroll, smearing his tears. He snuggled back into Eskel's chest with a weak smile, "Not kill you my darling, though you might lose the use of your legs."

-+-

They reached Oxenfurt without incident the next day and approached the gate at dusk. Eskel nervously rearranged the bags across Daffodil's back to best cover Llewellyn's hooves. Llewellyn pulled his velvet hat down over his ears, fluffing up the top so the outline of his horns didn't press through the fabric. "Good as it's going to be." He sighed. 

Daffodil's hooves clopped loudly across the stone bridge in the gathering dark. As they approached the guard outpost, Eskel tensed, ready to cast a sign or draw his sword. But the sleepy guards just nodded at the couple with a brief, but not unfriendly greeting. 

"Witcher." The soldier touched the brim of his helmet. 

"Evening." Eskel replied. "Any work in the city?"

"Aye. Harbormaster always pays for drowner heads, an' doubtless Captain Friedman would have work for a man of skill." 

Eskel nodded. "Thanks." They walked on, Eskel leading them through the winding streets of cramped, colorful houses to the theatre district. At the top of a steep hill, he glimpsed the painted sign. _The Rosebud_, favorite bawdy-house of the wealthy academics and aristocrats of Redania.

"You'll like this place. Celine's a fair woman," Eskel said hopefully. He'd done some work for them in the past and had been paid decently. He'd subsequently been a customer, and while it had certainly been a satisfactory experience, it didn't give him any insight into how the workers were treated. He decided to keep that part to himself.

"Hmpf. I'm sure she's just barely as fair as she has to be." Llewellyn disentangled himself from the pile of bags and slid off the gelding's back, hoofs hitting the pavement with a click.

"Stay here with the horse. I'll go talk to Celine." Eskel brushed some of the road dust off his doublet and left Llewellyn, who was scowling as he stroked Daffodil's pink nose.

"I'm not giving her more than twenty percent." 

"Yeah, yeah. corner room, bathtub, no contract. I got it." Eskel climbed the half flight of stone steps and pulled open the bright red door. A puff of incense hit him in the face and his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Business was just picking up as the night gathered, and the common room was full of people laughing, flirting, playing cards, and getting absolutely pissed. A group of university students were having a heated debate. A man wearing only a pair of pansied slops and lace ruff strummed a lute in the corner. Adjusting his baldrick and giving a nod to the cauliflower-eared bouncer sitting by the door, Eskel headed to the back, where he hoped to find Madame Celine in her offices. 

"Married?!" A haughty voice called out from behind the half open wooden door.

"Oh, Madame Celine, I thought you'd be happy for me!" Another voice protested. Eskel placed his hand against the dark wood, unsure whether to knock or wait.

"My dear, how you throw your career away is your own mistake to make. I suppose some may enjoy life under a man's thumb, if he's rich enough." The aristocratic voice drawled.

"Yannik isn't like that! He _loves_ me," said the younger voice whistfully. "He says we'll have our own house in Brugge - with five bedrooms!" 

"Yes, yes, I'm sure it will be all sunshine and butterflies. Just clear out your room, dear, I can't spare Vaska's time to clean up your mess." Eskel heard the forceful scratching of a quill. 

"Very well, madame." A swish of skirts headed for the door.

"And Viola?" A twinge of regret in the older woman's voice.

"Yes, madame?" 

"Write to me." 

"Of course I will, madame." With a sniffle the door was quickly opened, revealing Eskel looming over the entrance. "Oh. Excuse me... " A misty eyed woman side-stepped Eskel with a wan smile. She had blond curls piled on top of her head, spilling out of their pinning. She wore a green corset and short, ruffled petticoat. 

"Sorry. Need to talk to Celine."

"Yes?" The haughty, reedy voice called from inside the office. Eskel pushed the door the rest of the way open. "Oh! Eskel. What a pleasant surprise. What brings you here?" The woman, a half elf with distinguished features that might make her between fifty and one hundred and fifty, rose and gestured with her hand, "Please, sit." She moved to pour him a glass of Beauclair white, handing him the delicate crystal. 

"Hello Celine. Thanks..." He sat, feeling awkward perching his bulk on the edge of the delicate antique chaise. "Its... I have some business." 

"Oh? Celine raised an eyebrow, tucking a strand of her grey-flecked dark hair behind a pointed ear.

"I hear you have an employment opening." Eskel smirked. 

"Yes, well, news travels fast when you have your ear against the door." Celine sipped her drink and sat back on the velvet upholstered chair. "Thinking of a career, change, master witcher?"

"I'm traveling with someone... who I think you should meet. Well, of anyone I thought you... you might be favorable to a certain type of arrangement... since..." Eskel cleared his thoat awkwardly, "since Katria." Eskel had taken the job from Celine two years ago, helping a rusalka who had been working at the Rosebud leave the city.

"Get on with it, man." Celine sighed with exasperation.

"There's an incubus. Name of Llewellyn. He ran into some trouble in his last place and is looking for somewhere to settle. Preferably with a bit of protection." Eskel would just lay his cards on the table. He'd have to come out with it eventually, if he wanted Celine's help.

Celine's eyebrows shot up, and Eskel could practically see the coins clinking in her eyes. "What kind of trouble? The kind that will follow him here?" 

"Not likely. Just some irritated peasant." Eskel hoped it was the truth. 

"I suppose I could make it work. Fifty crowns a month, plus thirty percent of his earnings." The words spilled out of Celine's painted lips too fast. Eskel smiled. 

-+-

"You're in." Eskel sauntered down the stairs, grinning.

Llewellyn, looking jittery on the deserted street, wrung his hands. "How much does she want? I hate dealing with cities and money and business. Maybe this was a mistake, my darling."

"Twenty five crowns a month rent and ten percent." Eskel folded his hands across his chest and threw the incubus a smug smile. 

"A corner room?" 

"Of course, _my darling_"

"Oh! Eskel," Llewellyn hopped up into the witcher's arms, twining his arms around his neck. "Oxenfurt _is lovely_ this time of year."

-+- 

Once Daffodil was stabled and the pair had dragged all their bags up the wide staircase at the Rosebud, drawing the stares of nearly everyone in attendance, they flopped down on the bed, exhausted. 

The room was spacious and well lit. An enormous four poster bed looked out over a third-floor window with a view of the entire district. The fireplace was well-stocked and there was a massive copper bathtub near it, ready to be filled with hot water. A well-worn couch and carved armoire completed the furnishings. 

"Well, I suppose I had better be off." Eskel slapped his knees and got up, making for the door. 

"No, my sweetest. Why are you going? Shall I be all alone for my first night in a strange town?" Llewellyn followed him to the doorway, frowning.

"No, I'm sure you need to be getting your rest." Eskel's face was stony, but his eyes crinkled with mischief. 

"Eskel..." Llewellyn trailed away sadly as Eskel turned and walked down the hall... and opened the next door. 

"Well. This is me. I'll be seeing you, Llew." He slipped inside the room with a suppressed chuckle.

"You villain!" The incubus laughed, running inside the small room and giving Eskel a playful shove. "I thought you were leaving me here!" 

Eskel broke into a laugh and wrapped his arms around Llewellyn's waist. "Course not. Celine owes me a favor so I decided to stay for a bit. See you get settled in."

"Mmm." Llewellyn undid the buttons on Eskel's doublet, slipping his hands inside. "Mmmm," he hummed as he pushed off the quilted coat and undershirt. 

Eskel leaned down and captured Llewellyn's mouth in a kiss, parting the incubus' lips with his tongue and licking into his mouth. Eskel pulled them both backward until the back of his knees hit the bed, making him sit down hard on the soft feather down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pansied slops are the cute little puff-and-slash shorts that Dandelion wears in the game.


	9. Incense

Llewellyn panted, huffing hot breath into Eskel's neck as he ran his fingers down the muscular chest, knotted with scars and downy with black hairs. They were naked on the bed, the incubus straddling the witcher's lap. Outside the sun was orange and purple over Oxenfurt harbor, and the students and merchants were making their ways home for the night. Inside was foggy with the scent of sweat and sex.

The incubus crawled down the bed, hooking his arms around Eskel's knees and tugging with surprising strength. The witcher let himself be pulled into the gravity well of Llewellyn's hungry eyes. He stretched out, trapezius muscles flexing as he pushed his arms against the headboard. A thin sheen of sweat covered his powerful body. He spread his knees, open and vulnerable. A killer with his guard down. A hunter caught in the trap. Llewellyn's eyes raked over his thick thighs, his hairy belly, his leaking hard red cock. Lllewellyn brushed the inside of Eskel's thighs, parting them further, pushing the magic through the skin.

He licked a wet stripe up the puckered pink hole and felt the full-body shiver run through Eskel, who reached a hand up to squeeze down roughly on the base of his cock. With a wave of his hand, the incubus lit the candelabra in the corner of the room and lowered the shade. The room filled with sweet smoke and flickering orange light. 

With both hands cupped under Eskel's ass, the incubus licked into Eskel, parting the stubborn muscle with an inhumanly long tongue. The witcher was sweating and panting, gripping his cock without moving his hand. His back arched, pressing his strong shoulders into the mattress. A single tear escaped his eye and trailed down his scruffy cheek. 

Llewellyn lapped into Eskel relentlessly, until his hole was dripping and open. "Wait here, darling," the incubus whispered, and slid off the bed. Eskel tried to catch his breath, wiping his face with the pillow. Soon he heard the clopping footsteps returning and felt Llewellyn's weight press down on the bed. Pushing the pillow back underneath his head, he caught a glimpse of the bottle of slick and smelled strong herbs before two fingers pushed slowly inside him. The feeling was warm and narcotic, making the witcher feel that his limbs were impossibly heavy. 

Eskel lay, spread on the bed, weighted down by his own body, knees parted around Llewellyn's shoulders for what felt like an instantaneous eternity. Time collapsed on him as Llewellyn massaged him, coaxing his body open. His cock was purple with blood, but his arm was too heavy to reach for it. His chest was flushed pink, his hair touseled with sweat. He felt paralyzed but floating, open but enclosed, hopelessly captivated by love but endlessly free. All his aches and pains, the worries of the road, were gone, but he occupied his body as never before. Fuck, he felt _good_.

Llewellyn pushed a third slick finger inside, crooking his hand to find that spot. He was rewarded by an animalistic moan, a raspy, ghoulish sob of pleasure. He turned his head to kiss the side of Eskel's knee with infinite tenderness. The incubus massaged his fingers in and out of Eskel, making the big man's hands grip the sheet desperately. 

Reaching again for the potion, Llewellyn coated his cock in slick with one motion. Downstairs, a band started playing, the drums, lute, clapping hands, and stomping feet filtering up through the floorboards. The incense was thick in the room, illuminated by a few parting rays of sunset. 

"Eskel." Llewellyns voice was deep and breathy. Eskel tried to shake himself from his stupor and opened his dark eyes.

"Y-yes?" He rasped. 

"Are you ready for me, baby?" The incubus held his black cock in one hand and placed the other gently on Eskel's hip.

Eskel moaned softly, letting his knees fall apart and squeezing his eyes shut again. "I think I might die. I need you."

Slowly, ever so slowly, Llewellyn pressed his cock against Eskel's hole. Dripping and shiny with slickness, it parted him without resistance. Both men were gasping like sprinters, lightning bolts of adrenaline shooting down to their toes. The incubus' hot length filled Eskel without pain, opening him wide and filling him up with pleasure. Llewellyn's fists punched into the mattress on either side of Eskel's hips and he was inside, balls just touching the witcher's ass. 

Suddenly, Eskel found his strength again and his hands reached up under Llewellyn's arms to grasp him by the hips. Roughly, he ground their bodies together, curling his torso up to bring the incubus into a desparate kiss. 

They ground into each other wildly, the witcher letting out barking grunts and letting his eyes roll back in his head, the incubus gasping and red-faced. Finally they found a rhythm with their bodies pressed close together, Llewellyn cradling Eskel's head and Eskel using his hips to buck up into the incubus' body. The music and noise faded away as they became delirious with the magic. 

Llewellyn pulled away, a sloppy strand of spit connecting his red mouth to the witcher's. "Turn over for me, love."

Eskel's hips snapped up once more, crushing the incubus into him. He slammed his head back against the bed and turned his body, clambering up onto his knees. He was so open, dripping with the herbal elixer. The muscles along his arched back tensed and flexed. Llewellyn rested one stabilizing hand on his hip and sank in to the hot, slick tightness. 

Llewellyn fucked Eskel brutally, his furry knees slipping on the sheets, his fingers pressing red marks into the witcher's glistening flesh.

"Unnh.. Eskel. Fuck. I'm close." He growled. 

Eskel's hand shot up to his own cock and stroked it quickly, pressing his thumb to the slit, smushing his face down into the pillow. He pushed his hips back into the incubus, muscles tensing. 

Llewellyn reached around Eskel's broad chest and hugged him tightly, bending over his back and covering him with his body. His ragged breaths turned to involuntary moans as he boiled with pleasure. 

The witcher's hairy thighs trembled as the bubble of his orgasm burst, too. Eskel's hips slid down to the bed, and the couple lay like that, still and slick, panting for breath, for several sweet moments/

The incubus' softening cock slid out of Eskel in a warm rush of come, and he moved to nestle in beside the witcher, under his sleep-heavy arm. Through heavy-lidded eyes Eskel smiled at him and drew him close, huffing in a lungful of his scent.


	10. Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff epilogue. Obligatory Witcher bathtime.

Eskel sat behind the steaming tub, massaging his fingers into Llewellyn's long, soapy hair. The steamy smell of rosemary filled the room. In the few weeks they had been living at the brothel, he had decorated with burgundy silk curtains and swirls of his paint across the walls (much to the madame's chagrin). A vanity covered in expensive perfumes and potion ingredients attested to the incubus' success in Oxenfurt. He had caught the eye of a highborn noblewoman, a second cousin to King Vizimir, and her patronage had firmly ensconced Llew in the Good Life. 

"Mmm. That feels good. " Llewellyn hummed as Eskel lathered up his locks. He stretched his legs out, placing his hooves up on the far end of the tub. A birch log crackled and popped in the fireplace. Someone let out a raucous laugh downstairs. 

"Now let me rinse your hair." Eskel held up a pitcher of hot water and gently tipped the incubus' head back. He poured the steaming water over Llew's head, lovingly combing his fingers through the long dark hair. Llewellyn kept his eyes squeezed shut and puffed air out his nose.

Eskel wiped his hands on a thick towel and stood, holding it open for Llewellyn. The incubus stood up and stepped out of the tub, letting the witcher cover him in the soft cloth, patting his hair.

Pulling the towel off his head and wrapping it around the dripping fur of his legs, he saw that Eskel had already gotten his body paint ready and was stirring it to the right consistency. Llewellyn smiled and reached for the brush. 

"That's nice." Eskel remarked, smiling as the incubus drew a curved line of dots around his pectoral. 

"Darling, you say that every time." Llewellyn continued the dots down to his belly button.

"I love you." Eskel blurted out, looking pained. Llewellyn looked up quickly from his navel gazing, lips parted slightly. 

"You..." Llew trailed off. A wet plop of paint dripped off the brush and fell on the floor, mixing with a puddle of bathwater. 

"Eskel... I can't be other than I am. You'll never make a kept man out of me. My life isn't like a hu - " 

Eskel cut him off, red-faced. "I know it's not. I know what you are. Do you think I have you confused? That I don't know what you are - who you are?" 

"It's just th -"

"I _know_. I - I understand." Eskel placed the paint back on the vanity and sat down on the bench in front of it. He put his head in his hands, fingers still pruny from washing the incubus' hair. 

"I know who you are. And all I want... all I want is to love you." Eskel looked up, eyes searching. "All I want is to love you." 

"My treasure," Llewellyn breathed, reaching out to cup the witcher' chin. "You may love me. And I cannot but love you, too."


End file.
